


Dragon Whiskers

by sarena



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adult Draco Malfoy, Adult Hermione Granger, Bedsharing, Cabins, Community: dramione_advent, Don't copy to another site, Dragon Expert!Hermione, Dragons, F/M, Snow, Winter Solstice, YOU KNOW IT, wandmaker!Draco
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:14:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21535780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarena/pseuds/sarena
Summary: "Do you think this is my notion of how I'd like to spend winter solstice? Maybe even Christmas week? I'm as delighted as you are!"Written for D/Hr Advent 2019; Prompt: Snowflakes.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 49
Kudos: 296
Collections: D/Hr Advent 2019





	Dragon Whiskers

**Author's Note:**

> A big THANK YOU to everyone who nominated me <3! It was a huge surprise to get the invitation email. Thank you to the mods for initiating and organising this fest which is a staple for every Dramione reader! I had a blast writing for this year's D/Hr Advent :).
> 
> Thank you so much to HeartOfAspen for her never-ending patience and priceless beta-powers! This fic would be a hot mess without you <3! I'm very grateful to LightOfEvolution who helped me with her alpha-skills and then cut out those 250 words I was over the limit. I don't think that amount would have fallen in the category 'different-programs-count-differently' ;). My thanks also go to Lenina who left her headcanon on a drabble I wrote a while ago. I liked her continuation of Draco as specialised wandmaker a lot :). Last, but not least, Astoria-j13 introduced me to Melba toast (still can't believe you don't have Zwieback! Lol) and the Swedish is courtesy of SlytherinHermione who was so kind as to translate something for this story. Thank you both :)! All remaining mistakes are my very own. I do tend to add last-minute stuff. And thank AO3 that the author notes don't add to the word count :P.
> 
> My prompt was Snowflakes. I hope you'll l like what my weird imagination came up with!
> 
> Disclaimer: All rights belong to JK Rowling and her publishers. I just borrow the characters and the world for a bit; the plot (as little as there is) is mine, though. This is a non-profit work, and no copyright infringement is intended.

Hermione's patience was growing thin. The blasted backpack _he'd_ refused to shrink along with their tent hung heavily from her shoulders, while the sheer volume of trees seemed unending as she trudged between them. At least they were dense, shielding them from the beginning snowfall. While she was fond of snowflakes, especially the big, delicate kind like the ones dancing down before they entered the forest, she preferred watching them from inside. A decidedly warm inside. That unattainable state raised her annoyance another notch. She snarled at her companion, "Do you think this is _my_ notion of how I'd like to spend winter solstice? Maybe even Christmas week? I'm _as_ delighted as you are!"

"Don't pretend you're not as interested in the effects of frost-dragon whiskers in wand-crafting as I am!"

She was, she'd admit that much, but opted for sending him a glare. Her breath short, she didn't see any need to confirm their shared academic interest.

Of course, he decided the conversation wasn't over, despite the lull in dialogue. "Potter and Weasley will surely be able to survive one Christmas without you."

That stung, although Malfoy couldn't possibly grasp how left out Hermione sometimes felt when she spent time with them. She sneered into her scarf, the soft fabric moist from her breath. Indeed, she was grateful that she and Ron had broken up before becoming too serious, but sometimes she felt downright lonely that he and Harry enjoyed all the best familial comforts, and she had no one really.

She would miss the children's glee (and Arthur's) as they decorated the tree together, and that didn't brighten her mood one bit. She'd much rather get drunk with the Weasley brothers instead of spending her spare time with the reserved man next to her now. Hermione tromped on, her steps a little more forceful than necessary.

"Stop making such a ruckus," Malfoy hissed as if he hadn't just shouted through the woods.

"We're still far away from the clearing the dragons are supposed to use for mating," Hermione retorted, pinching her lips. "This part of the forest is protected by the Euro-Asian Magical Creature Conservation Agreement and hasn't been entered in a long time."

He harrumphed as he caught up with her. Hands flailing for a moment when his foot caught in a root, he went on, "It hasn't been _officially_ _cartographed_ in over fifty years. There's no saying we're the first ones here since then. The landmarks described by Dunlinson might not be there anymore. I wish I could decipher his additional annotations."

"Lakes and mountains don't vanish within half a century. As for illegal trespassing..." She shrugged. "We handle those on a regular basis in the Scottish reserve. I came prepared."

"As prepared as you think you are, the marks on the map are the only orientation we've got. If we're off by a couple of miles, the Apparition shield enforced by the Swedish ministry won't let us just pop around as we like."

Hermione grit her teeth. "I know, and then there's the electric interference. That's why we have an analogue compass." She patted her coat pocket.

"A hundred compasses won't be of any help without this." He waved his hand with the folded map.

She bit her tongue. Their trip through the wilderness had lasted for a couple of hours already, and while she wasn't exactly out-of-shape, her time on the run had been two decades ago. When she'd taken on the consultant role for Malfoy, there hadn't been any talk about marches through ice, snow, or Swedish forests. Nor that she'd engage in this kind of questionable activities with Malfoy himself, of all people.

She cast him a look from the corner of her eye. His robes were bulkier than hers, hiding his lean and toned body underneath. Hermione had got one or two pleasant eyefuls of him during the occasional summer Quidditch matches Harry and Ron would organise. She still wasn't sure what had made Harry invite Malfoy to begin with, but that had been a good ten years ago. It didn't matter anymore. She _knew_ Malfoy was agile and fast, despite his bulky clothing. Since last week, she also knew that he prided himself on collecting most of the key components for his wands himself. This was something which had paid off, difficult as it was for her to imagine him mud-covered in Amazonian jungles. The high quality and specialisation of his wands were what had catapulted him quickly to the top supplier to various departments within the Ministry.

He didn't speak for a while, but Hermione didn't mind. Swedish Short-Snouts had extraordinary senses which made them ferocious adversaries, and their agenda was to harvest the usable remains from potentially fallen beasts, not getting between the lines. No matter if they faced two dragons fighting for breeding rights or a mating couple at their goal, they'd have to be quiet from now on.

The late afternoon light was dim through the branches. Hermione could make out Malfoy's ruddy cheeks just above the scarf he readjusted. His head was covered with a charmed woollen hat, very similar to hers. It probably flattened his hair into the unbecoming style he'd sported during their early years in Hogwarts. Whenever she caught her eyes lingering on his muscular arms or soft, pink lips—sometimes both—she reminded herself of that look. Too bad that mental image seemed to have lost its effect a while ago.

Squinting against the cold wind, Hermione spotted a wooden cabin in the distance. It was a dark silhouette among the trees, more ominous than she cared to admit. The gossamer curtain of snowflakes was becoming more dense, and she pulled her scarf tightly around herself. Goosebumps ran along her neck and down her back, if from the view of the gloomy hut or the biting wind, she couldn't tell exactly. She would have to renew the warming charm on her gear soon.

"What's that building over there?" Hermione lifted her chin in its direction.

Draco focused his view on the shadowed hut and turned to the flapping map in his gloved hands. "It's not mentioned here... But it's not like the Swedish ministry was exceptionally forthcoming to our request. Maybe an old hunter's lodge."

A sudden gust of wind made Hermione shudder. It drove under her collar and between the buttons of her coat. From the corner of her eye, she saw Draco burrow his nose into his scarf.

"We should investigate," she proposed.

"Agreed." The intensity of the wind increased with each step, causing snowflakes to dance wildly through her field of vision. Her scarf had become solid from her freezing breath, but just as she pulled her wand out, Draco exclaimed, "Shit!" He swung his wand hectically. Voice thin against the surprising burst of nature, he gripped her forearm and turned her to him. Leaning close to her face so he didn't have to yell, he explained, "Magic's not working."

With the other hand, Hermione jerked her wand free from its holster. By now, cold had crept through her weakened heating charms and her fingers were growing stiff. " _Calefacio!_ " Nothing happened, not even a measly spark springing from the tip.

"Come," Draco implored, "we have to get out of this weather. It must be magical. There's little known about Swedish Short-Snout mating rituals, or how they affect their surroundings." Without further ado, he gripped her wrist and dragged her along with him.

"Wait! What if the hut's a trap? If the storm and the magic-dampening field are aimed at us or other intruders—"

He didn't stop pulling her with him, but he slowed down. "I know you're thinking of smugglers, but it's getting colder by the minute. We can't cast spells. I don't know what's in there, but I know we'll freeze to death outside."

Conceding, she quickened her steps. The temperature dropped further as the storm increased in intensity. Instead of shielding them from the weather, the branches above their heads now shed heavy loads of snow onto them. Of the picturesque, dainty snowflakes, nothing was left—only cold and melting water finding its way under their clothes. They both cursed more than once.

Both their teeth were chattering when they finally fought their way through the storm to the entrance of the building. It appeared innocent enough. Age-greyed timber beams made up the walls and roof, while the windows were dirt-blind glass. It looked thoroughly uninhabited from the outside; Hermione only hoped that the inside would be more welcoming.

Draco carefully tried the door. A blast of air pushed it open when he released the handle. It clanged against something solid, but nothing jumped out, and no other sound was heard despite the rising whimpering of the storm. It was grating on Hermione's nerves already.

Heart beating in her throat, she made eye contact with Draco. He took a breath, then slipped into the shack. A few seconds later, his head popped out from between the doorframe. "Empty," he announced. Hermione stomped her feet, ridding herself of the clinging snow as she stepped in and quickly closed the door behind her, taking a curious look around the dark inside.

The interior was cold, though she was grateful for effective protection from the wind. She breathed in; the harsh sting of ice in her lungs was gone, leaving only a musty, stale smell. A simple table was placed in the middle of the room, accompanied by two chairs. Tucked away against one wall, there was a small bed covered by a thick blanket. Plain cupboards lined half of another wall while a fireplace sat in the middle of the adjoining one. Everything showed only a marginal layer of undisturbed dust. Still, Hermione tried a cleaning charm, but was unsurprised when her wand remained mute.

"It'll do for now," Draco muttered, surveying the rough iron pots and ladle hanging next to the fireplace. They looked like they hadn't been used in decades. They were lucky, though, that a high row of dried firewood was stacked against another wall. In the dying light of the evening, Hermione could just make out an axe leaning against the logs and what looked like a cinder-box.

"Hoping that you have matches in your pockets would mean pushing our luck, I guess," Hermione remarked. They both dropped their backpacks with dull thumps onto the scuffed floor.

A smug twist on his lips, Malfoy pulled his scarf and hat off, and unbuttoned his coat. An oblong, thick pocket appeared, sewn into the lining. He reached inside. And reached.

"An undetectable extension charm."

He shrugged. "Potter's a big fan of it. He'd made it mandatory in his department years ago. You're not the only one able to cast that spell."

Hermione raised one eyebrow, surprised that he would disclose that he'd picked up this idea from her.

"It's come in handy in the past," he admitted as he pulled out a box with long matches. Rummaging through his rucksack, he procured a small metal container and shook the tin with a grin. Tea.

Still fighting her chattering teeth, Hermione snatched both items out of his hands, putting the tea and the matches on the table. She scrutinised two of the bigger pots. The handkerchief she used to wipe them came back almost clean, but that was something she'd have to think about later. She pushed the pots into his direction. "Fill those with snow. Pack it densely," she ordered. "We're lucky that established magical changes aren't affected by magic-dampening shields, but we shouldn't dawdle in getting some water."

He pulled a face, licking his lips as he often did when he was about to disagree.

Hermione forced herself to look away from the movement of his tongue and intercepted before he could begin to whine. "I'll get the fire started. Soon enough it'll be pitch black, and we won't only need the warmth, but also the light."

"Of course."

There was a curious, sarcastic tone underlying his words, but Hermione kept her concentration on carrying the heavy, rough-hewn cinder-box to the fireplace instead of engaging. Bereft of an opportunity to argue, he buttoned his cloak up again with a grumble. She couldn't resist casting a glance at his face, although she knew she wouldn't be able to see his expression. Sighing loudly enough for the two of them, he braced himself as he opened the door again.

A surge of furious storm ripped the door out of his hand and slammed it open.

"Malfoy!" she shouted indignantly as she ran to the door to push it shut despite a small crack. There was a heap of snow directly in front of the entrance, and Draco hurried to fill the pots. Thick, massive snowflakes came down, limiting their sight to a few metres only, and stabbing the skin of her face with tiny needles. She could positively _see_ how the snow accumulating on the ground was gaining height. It had begun to cross the doorstep.

After what seemed like an eternity but probably wasn't more than a minute, he rushed back into the hut again.

"Thanks," Hermione said as she put the vessels on the table.

He mumbled something against his scarf which Hermione couldn't make out. Watching him for a few seconds as he peeled his clothes off, she rushed back to the fireplace when she caught herself ogling.

The matches lit up the pile of cinder and logs easily, and soon, a small fire crackled. Hermione exhaled; at least the question of temperature was secured.

She reached for one of the big, snow-filled pots, hooking it on the iron bar above the dancing flames. Soon they'd have hot water to fight the coldness from within. Her gaze flickered to the three small tin mugs on the mantlepiece. After cleaning those as well, she measured some of the tea by eye. It smelled fragrant and delicate, definitely not a coarse blend, but this was Draco Malfoy, of course.

As if he'd read her mind, Malfoy said, "Darjeeling, first flush." He took a seat. "Are you happy that I told you we'd carry our provisions on us instead of shrinking them with the tent?"

"Hmm," she replied as she fixed their mugs and pushed his tea across the table. He did have a point, but she wasn't going to tell him so. Taking her own seat opposite from him, she breathed the steam in deeply and took a careful sip. It burned her tongue, though the heat running down her throat and into her belly was worth it. "What do you propose as our next course of action? We can't resize the tent and the rest of the supplies, and the weather locks us in here for the time being."

"Have dinner and wait the storm out. Get as much sleep as possible." He eyed the bed suspiciously. "Only one bed," he muttered under his breath, but Hermione heard him anyway. Her head jerked in the direction of the bed. It was a plain, narrow piece of furniture, barely wide enough for two people who were absolutely comfortable with each other. She stifled a groan.

"We'll take turns."

"I suppose," he answered drily. "I'm definitely not going to sleep on the floor."

"Of course not. Let's not tarnish your delicate pure-blood constitution."

He looked up sharply from his cup. "Almost twenty years since Riddle's defeat, and you still can't let go, can you?"

She spluttered, but caught herself quickly as she recalled the recurring times she'd faced blood supremacy. Anger and hurt flared up. "As long as the likes of you look down on Muggleborns, or worse, you'll have to endure the occasional jab."

"The likes of _me_?" He looked seriously offended. "Is that what you think of me after all these years? Why would you even associate with me if you believe I'm still adhering to that bollocks? I'm not a prejudiced teenager anymore." Leaning forward, hands gripping the edge of the table so hard that his knuckles were white, he spat, "Why, for fuck's sake, would I kiss you if I still believed Muggleborns were worth less?"

There it was. The one thing Hermione hadn't wanted to face under any circumstances.

"I guess enough alcohol will do that," she snipped back.

Narrowing his eyes, he looked at her. Pink blotches were forming on his face. "Alcohol had nothing to do with it!"

With a derisive noise from deep down her chest, she threw her hands up and slumped back against her chair, chewing on her cheek. Of course, he probably expected her to ask what it was that actually _had_ something to do with it. It had been almost a year ago, so any interest on his side surely was done and over by now. She wasn't certain if she really should keep discussing this with him, but she knew it would nag her for a long time if she didn't.

Not wanting to face his dark expression, she got up and put more logs on the fire. "Then why?"

"What do you care, Granger? You said 'no' and that's the end of it."

Hermione felt torn. A part of her wanted to explain, to say there was a reason she'd pushed him away. A bigger part of her didn't want to be reminded of another failed relationship. She settled for a pressed-out, "Alright."

To fill the uneasy silence, she began to rifle through the contents of her rucksack. There were more important things than a rejected kiss now.

She cleared her throat, putting effort into sounding as collected as she could. "I have Melba toast and ramen. Oranges, apples, and a pack of noodles with tomato sauce… energy bars..." Peeking her head up a little, she saw him rub his hand over his face.

"Is that how you always…" he hesitated, then seemed to have changed his mind as his features relaxed. Indifference was written all over his face and Hermione wasn't sure if she liked this turn. "Nevermind. Anything that's warm." He stood a bit awkwardly, as if he didn't know back nor forth. "I'll check the… lavatory."

"Oh. Yeah." Hermione thought of the nice, warm bathroom they'd have if their magic still worked. Feeling more than a pang of regret, she watched him grab a candle from his rucksack and steer toward the dark corner on the opposite side.

The sparse illumination from outside had gone, leaving only blank darkness beyond the windows. Having lit a candle, Draco finally opened the small door. After a second of hesitation—Hermione thought a plain privy surely wouldn't be good for his precious sensibilities—he admitted, "At least we don't have to brave the storm outside." Maybe this was his own way of giving himself a pep talk.

In the meantime, Hermione busied herself with the food, but she could not push away the nature of their arrangements. Eyeing the lonesome bed, she grimaced. She wondered if she could get a wink of sleep with the wind howling outside, anyway.

Soon, the fragrant smell of ramen wafted through the air. Sparsely as the hut was equipped, Hermione had still found all the basic necessities tucked away in the cupboards. They spent their meal in continuation of the heavy silence that marked the aftermath of their argument.

She told herself that she didn't care much, but her throat-clearing was a touch uneasy. "Weather permitting, I suppose we should evaluate how far the magic-dampening shield reaches as soon as the storm abates. If it's a shield, at all."

"Agreed," he said without lifting his head.

The silence dragged on. Malfoy had put another candle on the table to aid him as he noted something down in a journal. Hermione tried to sneak a peek, curious what he was writing down, but the light was too low. Not to mention that she did not want to get caught snooping. Her own books had all been shrunk down with the tent, so she didn't really have any entertainment. Talking to Malfoy was out of the question. Granted, she could begin to count the logs in each wall, or try to predict when he would huff again as he seemed wont to do while writing. Bored through and through, she decided to use their sparse lavatory and perform a very short version of her nightly ablutions.

When she came back, goosebumps all over from the cold, the hut was empty. Her eyes darted around. Would he really stoop so low as to leave her alone? The rattling of the wind against the walls rendered this thought ridiculous at once. Her gaze fell onto the bed where a tell-tale bump had formed. Smothering the instant feeling of relief, she demanded, "What are you doing in the bed?"

The covers shifted to reveal his head, a play of light and shadow dancing over his face. "What does it look like?"

"I thought we'd take turns!" Her relief quickly made room for annoyance.

"I'm going to sleep in this bed the whole night."

"But—"

"Stay awake, or roll up on the table, or join me. I don't care." His eyes were closed again and he turned around.

Hermione balked. There was no way she'd cuddle up with Malfoy on that bed. She'd rather stay up all night long.

A mere half-hour later, however, she had to admit defeat. The exhausting trek and the cosy warmth from the flames finally took their toll. With each minute that passed, she felt more tired; there was a leadenness in her bones that screamed for a horizontal position. Loudly. She piled more logs onto the fire and turned to the bed.

Sneaking closer, she listened for even breathing. He'd been turning around a bit, but all in all, seemed peaceful and content. However, as soon as she bent down, he opened his eyes. She grit her teeth as she barely kept herself from flinching with surprise. "Move over. And give me the half of that blanket."

A grunt was the only answer she got, but he turned again and moved a little closer to the wall. He didn't open the blanket for her. Not that she'd expected him to. She bit her lower lip, more from frustration than anything else.

But— _oh_ —his back was deliciously warm. Hermione burrowed into the prewarmed bed, sliding her back against his. Her tug for more blanket earned her a hiss, but he didn't move away, so she secured enough to cover her front. It was not enough to be able to wrap herself in it properly. Her eyes had been drooping for a long time already, and as soon as her head hit her folded arm, she fell asleep.

Some time later, coldness crept along her back, slowly waking her up. Her front was cosy and warm and nestled against—

Her eyes flew open. She was snuggling against a toasty back. In fact, she had her arm tightly wrapped around the torso belonging to that back. _Draco Malfoy's_ back. Sleep-hazed, she felt his hand on hers, holding it close to his chest. At some point during the night, her fingers must have slipped between the buttons of his shirt, too. Every movement of his breathing rubbed the pads of her digits against the coarse hair of his chest. Possibly of its own volition, her nose came up to inhale. She liked the trace of cologne, liked how it blended with the natural scent of him, the intimacy of it all. It took her a few seconds to smother her inappropriate enjoyment as she blinked and tried to clear her thoughts.

The filtered light from outside told her dawn was rising. During the night, the angry sounds of the storm had quieted, and while the fire was still crackling silently, chilliness was spreading throughout the hut.

With a regretful wince, she began to untangle her arm from him. He was having none of it. Clasping his hand down on hers, he effectively stopped her every movement. She even held her breath for a moment.

"Do you know—" he paused, clearing his voice from the grumble of sleepiness, "—that the biggest of all regrets is to wonder _what if_?"

She worked her tongue, trying to moisten her suddenly dry mouth. Mornings were her weakness. While her mind was still finding its bearings, it was willing to pick up the most inane suggestions, to pursue things she would probably scoff at by noon. But maybe this wasn't as insane as she might think in bright daylight.

"Was that why you kissed me?" Without her really noticing, her fingers had spread to let his interlace with them.

He hummed, a deep-throated sound of agreement.

"I was in a relationship, back then," she offered.

His hold loosened immediately. "Are you still?"

"No," she said. "You?"

"No." He closed his hand around hers lightly again.

Wiggling a little nearer to him, Hermione pressed her face into his back. In fact, she pressed her whole self flush with him, spooning him. At the same time, her fingers began to wander further inside his shirt. She flicked a button open.

He cleared his throat again, but this time it sounded lower. "You're playing with fire."

"I prefer heat to coldness any given time."

He flipped around, causing her fingers to slip free. "Are you sure?" His eyes cast over her face, inquisitive and hot at the same time.

"I…" Eyes half-lidded, she nosed his chin, then kissed the same spot. The light shadow of unshaveness rasped against her skin. "...very much am."

"Fuck," he breathed.

Hermione leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. First softly, testing if he'd reconsider. When he opened his mouth a little to welcome her in, her tongue darted out to lick along his bottom lip. Hands raking through his messy hair, she increased the pressure. She felt his erection on her thigh, and the knowledge that she turned him on sent a first trickle of wetness between her legs. His hand glided along her side, coming to a rest on her hip. A moan escaped her throat as he nibbled on her lips, moving his mouth to her neck to suckle on it. She was pretty sure he was leaving love-bites, but that only sent another wave of arousal to her core.

Pushing on his shoulder, she made him lay on his back as she straddled him. Her fingers trembled as she unbuttoned his shirt, spreading it wide before she dipped down to lick over one perked nipple. Malfoy arched his back with a groan. The motion pressed his cock directly against her clit, but she needed more friction. As his hands slipped under her jumper to knead her breasts, she began to rock her core against his hard length. Feeling his fingertips grazing her nipples, she moaned loudly when he rolled them between his digits.

Just as she had divested her jumper and was reaching for her bra, the door to the hut crashed open.

"Va fan? Vem är ni? Vad gör ni här?" 

Yelping, she rolled off Malfoy. He was up in an instant, shirt hanging haphazardly from his shoulders. Hermione didn't even see him grabbing his wand. Latent but never-extinct reflexes came to life as Hermione found herself with her wand in her hand, as well. It pointed at the old man standing in the doorframe, who in turn had his wand aimed at them.

"Ministry-approved mission! State your name and business!" she shouted, eyes trained on their opponent.

"You're in _my_ cabin," the stranger replied with a strong accent. "You first."

Hermione exchanged a quick glance with Malfoy. He tilted his head, then slowly moved to search for their badges. Pulling the badges out, Malfoy held them up, casting the spell necessary to verify their claims. He didn't really look surprised that the magic worked again.

The old man nodded and lowered his wand. "Granger and Malfoy. Very well," he said, thoughtfulness on his face. Jerking his chin toward the table where their map was still out, he added, "You're off by a mile."

They both groaned in unison, sending each other _I told you_ -looks.

"You missed last night's show-down. That was a fight for the ages! I assume you felt the tails of all the commotion. But this cabin is absolutely off-limits."

Hermione furrowed her brows, just having slipped into her jumper again.

"We came here for shelter," Malfoy explained. "And who are you anyway?"

Ground vibrating, a deep thunder rolled through the earth.

A secret smile on the old man's face made Hermione rush to the window and wipe it clean of its milky layer of dust. Outside, no trees hindered her view. On the side of the nearest mountain, she saw two dragons circling around a darker patch. They landed and took off again in regular intervals.

"They're nesting!" Hermione exclaimed. She didn't have to encourage Malfoy. He pressed his face next to hers and peered outside. His body heat called to her, and as he put his arm lightly around her hips, she leaned into him. She smiled.

Clearing his throat, the old man said, "Now that the mating frenzy's over, I'll take you to the remains of the sorry loser. You get your whiskers and heartstrings, and then you can be on your way."

"But—" Hermione objected.

"Then you can be on your way."

Malfoy tugged on her hand. "We won't overstay our welcome." Moving his mouth close to her, he added, "My tools are with the tent. We can get to work right after obtaining the components. And when we're finished, we'll celebrate. Properly." His voice dropped with his last words, causing heat to flare in her belly again.

She straightened her shoulders, facing the old man. "We'll follow your lead."

A satisfied expression on his face, he nodded. "Good. Pack your things and let's leave." The corners of his mouth twitched up. "Name's Dunlinson."

**Author's Note:**

> "Va fan? Vem är ni? Vad gör ni här?" = "What the fuck? Who are you? What are you doing here?"
> 
> Me, starting this fic: OMG, I'll never reach the 500 words minimum!  
> Me, after writing Tangled Limbs: I swear I'll never write smut again!  
> Also me, midway through this fic: Fuck, I'm at 4500 words already. I'll need at least another 3k for proper smut!  
> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> With AO3's recent changes to the archive, we writers can't see hits of anonymous readers anymore. Please consider leaving kudos or an anon comment instead if you wish to stay anon but would like to express your appreciation. It is very much welcome! Thank you all for being awesome! 💗🧡💛💚💙💜🤎🖤
> 
> Please let me know what you think! Praise and constructive criticism are very welcome :). If you find a mistake, please don't hesitate to contact me on tumblr: [o0sarena0o](https://o0sarena0o.tumblr.com/) and I'll try to fix it as soon as I can.


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